By ARIELLA REIDENBERG
My friends ask me why I care so much
My father asks why I do not analyze my theories under a microscope
My mother says, “You think that’s big…
…wait ‘til you look at tide pools!”
I ask myself, why the incoming waves are genocidal
But dumping a block of sodium into the gorge
and watching the walls crumble
Like a pencil to a wooden desk,
the graphite of my mind smears dark streaks onto walls
painted over until
it’s graffiti to me.
I hold a bead of sand between my thumb and forefinger
rolling gently, wondering if it can get any smaller
tiny enough to clog a pore and large enough to taste between your teeth
it plays its part anonymously.
Yet, back on the beach, I feel the ocean kidnapping each grit beneath my feet
and I hear screaming.